


Strap In

by Kirito_Potter



Series: Trans Characters [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crying, Established Relationship, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Pre-Book 2: Wayward Son, Sex Toys, Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, Strap-Ons, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirito_Potter/pseuds/Kirito_Potter
Summary: "It's not what it looks like!" He insists.I raise an eyebrow. "So it's not a dildo?"His face goes redder, until his freckles blend in. "Okay, that part is what it looks like. But I meant— uh—"
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Trans Characters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939453
Comments: 20
Kudos: 197





	Strap In

**Author's Note:**

> Just popping in to say that one afab term is used, and afab genitals are discussed throughout. If that makes you uncomfortable, this might not be the fic for you.

**SIMON**

A snapped hair tie. That can go in the "Keep" pile, right? I'll just tie it with a little bow, and it's practically good as new.

I try to imagine Penny standing behind me, leaning over my head with her hands on her hips.  _ You're a hoarder, Simon. You should have thrown that thing away as soon as it broke. You hardly ever tie your hair back anyways. _

"I use them when I study," I argue. "So my hair isn't in my eyes while I read."

_ You've never studied a day in your life, Si. And you certainly won't be now. _

I wince a little at that. Even if it's my own imagination, that stung.

Realising I lost my magic for good was hard enough, but realising I have to leave Watford because of it was brutal. As much as I try to put on a brave face for Baz's sake, it's been rough. Really rough. Watford is my  _ home, _ more than any other place I've lived in. I grew up here. I found people who actually cared about me here. Hell, I found  _ myself _ here. There has never been another place where I felt so safe and fucking wanted, and having to leave it all behind feels the way it did when I thought Baz would never come back. Now I have Baz. (And it's wonderful. It's completely, absolutely wonderful.) But I won't have Watford. It's another slap in the face after I'm already bruised and bleeding.

At least I get a few days here, to take my belongings and say goodbye to the room. And I had a while before, too, but that didn't really count. After everything that happened— and especially because it happened during Christmas break— it took some time for everything at Watford to get reorganized, including Penny's mum taking charge. Until then, even classes were cancelled. In the meantime, I just sat in this room, but I was still trying to process things. I wouldn't count that, when it felt like I was underwater for a month. If the school board had made me move out in that time, I think I would have finished shutting down completely.

I made sure to start gathering my things while Baz went to class, so he wouldn't have to watch me sift through all my junk and feel sorry for myself.

(And Merlin, of-fucking-course I have to leave our shared room as soon as I figure out my feelings for him.) (I slept in his bed last night. Even though he was cold— his hands on my arms, a sliver of his stomach brushing my back after his shirt slid up— I slept soundly. Better than I have in weeks.)

I turn and throw the hair tie into the trash bin.

"Nothing but net," I huff.

The drawer on my bedside table is nearly empty now, the rest dropped into two piles (if they can be called that) at my feet. There's only crumpled papers left, and while I'm tempted to carefully unfold them all and see what I wrote, most of it is probably attempts at maths or feigned note-taking. I scoop them into my arms and struggle to push myself up from my knees without using my hands, then walk over and drop them into the bin. A few go spilling out onto the floor, and I have to lean down and pick them up to push them far enough into the bag that they won't fall again.

The "Keep" pile is already looking too big to fit in my suitcase, but I'd feel bad getting rid of any of it. Looking at the "Donate" pile makes me happy, though— it's not much, but it's more than I had as a kid, the sort of stuff I could only get when I was here at Watford. Comic books, cool fidget toys, clothes that are admittedly a little worn through, but less so than the stuff I wore at the homes. I know that if I'd been given things like this growing up I would have lost my mind.

There are a few things that are  _ actually _ keepers, though, besides the stuff I can't make myself throw away. For example: I've been on the lookout for my football in every place I've checked today.

Well, it’s not mine, I suppose. It’s from one of the last games I got to play before my duties as the Chosen One took up too much time for me to be a reliable pick for teams. I took it by mistake and never brought it back. Sometimes I kick it around in here. I haven't looked in my wardrobe yet, so I'm not sure if it’s in there or just tucked into the figurative corners of the room.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

I stand there for a moment, waiting for the spell to work. Then I remember.

"Oh. Fuck."

I grit my teeth and take to manually ripping the sheets off my bed to check underneath for anything else I might have missed.

It's sort of funny. I'd never have relied on magic for something like a searching spell before, not in a situation where I could do it just as easily myself. But now that my magic’s gone, the urge to use it is so strong that I tried without thinking.

There's nothing on the bed, so I climb up onto it to check behind it. A few dust bunnies (luckily not the kind that try to rip your face off) and a pencil. Nothing of interest, although the pencil has a cool piano design. It was probably Baz's; I'm liable to steal writing utensils off his desk when I can't find one of my own. I lean down and grab it, wiping it off on my ratty joggers (I couldn't bring myself to put on a uniform, especially when I realised I couldn't fit the wings in my shirt without tearing it), then hop off my mattress and walk over to Baz’s side of the room, dropping the pencil off for him to find later.

I step up to my wardrobe, throwing the doors open. Immediately, a loose cardigan comes tumbling out, laying itself over my shoes like an unapologetic puppy. I would normally pick it up and toss it back inside, but that’s probably why it fell in the first place. Most of the clothes in here aren’t hung up. It’s gotten to the point that I try not to open my wardrobe when Baz is around, because I know he’ll make some snippy remark. (Would he still, now that we’re going out? I don’t think he’d be as mean about it, but I’d hope he’d keep his sass. That’s half the fun of knowing him, and dating him won’t be nearly as interesting if he loses all his sharp edges.)

Sorting through my clothes seems like it could take a whole day on its own, so of course I put it off until later. Instead, I kneel and pull out the plastic bin at the bottom of my wardrobe. I’m pretty sure I haven’t opened it since last school year, because I can’t seem to remember anything I stashed inside it. I pop off the lid.

“My football!” I laugh, lifting it from the box.

I’m about to stand up and start bouncing it on my knee when I see something poking out from under the mess in the bin. I drop the ball in my shock, and it bounces and rolls away in the corner of my vision.

I completely forgot I even had this, much less that it was in my wardrobe. It’s a miracle no one found it before I did. I pull it free, feeling my face go a little warm.

I’m holding a smooth silicone dildo, curving slightly in my hand. It’s sort of a skin tone, but it’s clearly not trying to be realistic, which is good, because it’s much paler than I am. I grab a black strip of fabric at the bottom of the bin, too, from the same purchase. I tug, and more fabric comes up with it.

I stand, glancing around. They weren’t exactly cheap, so I don’t see why I wouldn’t keep them. They might be useful at some point. (Just thinking about it makes my chest go tight, though I’m not sure if it’s from being nervous or horny.) I don’t plan on bringing the whole bin, though. I know these were delivered in a box, but I can’t remember if I kept it.

“Snow?”

**BAZ**

Snow spins on his heel, eyes wide. His wings flare out as he startles, then suddenly draw in when he sees me. His shoulders hunch, mirroring their movement.

He’s holding a dildo.

“Nothing!” He yelps, trying desperately to hide his hands behind his back as he starts to blush.

“I haven’t asked you anything yet,” I mumble, but my head is spinning.

Obviously, it’s not something we’ve talked about, but I assumed he wouldn’t like penetration. It just seemed like something that would make him uncomfortable, like when my hand brushed over his chest while we were snogging on the night he stayed at my house. (Before everything hit the fan.) But just seeing him with the toy is enough to get my mind racing with images of him with his legs spread. I do my best to push them away, as some attempt to respect his privacy, though it’s quite difficult.

"It's not what it looks like!" He insists.

I raise an eyebrow. "So it's not a dildo?"

His face goes redder, until his freckles blend in. "Okay, that part is what it looks like. But I meant— uh—"

I close the door and step towards him, until he's close enough that I could reach out and card my fingers through his hair. (I'm getting distracted already. He does that to me.) I start to cross my arms, then consider that it might look standoffish and drop them to my sides. "Do you want me to pretend I didn't see it, love?" I ask, trying to sound encouraging. "Or is this something you want to talk about?"

Obviously, I’d prefer to talk about it— if not so he can tell me that he wants me to push him onto my bed here and now, then at least so I’ll know his boundaries. But if he’s not even comfortable with that much, I can give him time. We haven’t been dating for very long, after all. Communication is key.

He clears his throat. "I just— I feel like I have to explain."

I nod.

"It's not for me."

The surprise I feel must be evident in my expression, because he squeaks.

"Uh! Not that it's for  _ you! _ Er— not that it couldn't be for you." That only makes him more flustered. (Well, it makes both of us more flustered.) "That's not— I just mean— fuck! Ah, no! Not that either! Um—"

I take a page from his book and kiss him.

He softens against my touch, and I feel his jaw moving against me in that way I keep dreaming about lately. The hand not occupied with the dildo moves to grab my waist, but the rustle of what sounds like fabric brushing against my blazer makes me reach out and grab his wrist, pulling back from the kiss to look down.

He's clutching a strip of black nylon. Several of them come together to meet what looks startlingly like a jockstrap, but it’s got a hole in the middle of it.

“Is that… a harness?” I ask, realisation flooding through me.

Snow jumps a little, trying to yank his wrist free. I let go of him, but this time he doesn’t hide his hands.

I think I understand what he meant now.

“Um— fuck,” he says again, refusing to meet my eyes. “What are you even doing here? It’s—” he glances to the clock, his tail flicking against his leg— “like, lunchtime, isn’t it?”

“I don’t eat lunch,” I say, still staring at the harness.

“Baz, you can’t just skip a meal!” He pouts, finally meeting my gaze.

“I have a slow metabolism,” I reply. This was not a conversation I wanted to have, and I don't have the patience for it now.

“But— ”

“Is that a harness?” I ask again.

He shuffles his feet. “A little bit.”

I laugh. It's more of a bark, short and dry. “It’s a yes or no question, Snow.”

“Then yes.” He smiles at me, the blush on his cheeks starting to lessen. “It was, uh, an impulse buy?” Biting his lip, he rubs his fingers absentmindedly over the silicone. “From… when I was dating Agatha.”

I feel like a cold, heavy boulder has just dropped into my stomach.

“No, I— I never used it!” He gasps out.

The rock shrinks a bit.

“It seemed like a good idea when I was on the website. And I did mean to use it with her. But the morning after I bought it, I realised what I’d done, and I was just so embarrassed, and then it arrived, and I just hid it away. I could never… ask her,” he sighs. “For anything like that.”

On one hand, the thought of Snow searching for sex toys is so far-fetched that I would have dismissed the idea if it had come up. On the other, now that he's telling me that's exactly what happened, I can't stop thinking about it. His face, lit only by the soft blue glow of the screen, pinching with arousal as he presses his hand against his trousers while he imagines using the toys he's found.

I try to clear my head. “Do you think you'll ever want to use it, though?”

He shrugs weakly. “I mean, yeah.” His eyes dart down. “The hottest wet dreams for me are the ones where I have a proper prick. So being able to use a harness to fuck someone sounds wicked.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing distractingly. “Sorry. Is that weird?”

“No,” I say. (Maybe I say it a little too quickly, but it’s true.) I'm no stranger to wet dreams. Dreaming is all I've done for years. Besides that, hearing him say something so overtly sexual— hearing him say he wants to fuck someone— is such a departure. It's making my head fuzzy again. “You know you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, right? I’m more than happy to hear you talk about sex.” I'm never this open with him, but I need him to understand.

His face flushes again. “Um. Merlin. Thank you.”

I want him. So much. Every hour of every day. I've wanted him for so long, and I thought it would never come to fruition, that I'd be nothing but longing until I was just nothing. But what I never expected— well, I never expected I'd be dating him. But more than that, I never expected that, if I ever did have him, I'd want him  _ more _ somehow. It's ridiculous. How can finally having something you've hoped for all your life make you want it more? It almost hurts to want him this much. But I don’t want to overwhelm him. “If it makes you uncomfortable— ”

“It doesn’t,” he laughs. “You’re bloody fit, so we’d probably end up talking about it eventually.”

I reach for his hand, and he smiles, but I snatch the dildo from him, smirking. "It’s never been used?” I give him a meaningful look. “On… anyone?”

His eyebrows pull together. “I don’t really like that stuff,” he admits. “I— when— ” He clears his throat before trying again, looking anywhere but at me. “I’ve tried. With fingers. But it doesn’t really do anything for me."

The mental image of Snow fingering himself makes my gums itch, but I try to keep his preferences in mind.

"Like, it— it doesn't feel good, and it makes me sort of. Uh. Uncomfortable, on top of that. So I don't want that."

“Anything else you don’t like?” I lick my lips. “Or do like?”

He snorts, nervously running his hands through his hair as he moves towards his bed before dropping onto the edge of the mattress. His tail moves aside for him almost automatically, so he won't sit on it. “I guess I’d… like to keep my binder on. I know you’re not supposed to wear them during exercise, but I spar and practice with my sword with it on all the time, so it can't be much worse. And I don’t even know if sex counts as exercise. And I wouldn’t feel okay during sex otherwise.”

I move closer, lowering myself onto the bed next to him slowly, to give him enough time to tell me to stop if he needs to.

“And, like I said, I don't want… penetration. But on the other hand, I don’t think I’d mind if you— ” he freezes up, blushing again. “If… someone… touched my dick.”

“Dick?” I ask carefully. As much as I try to be supportive, I'm a little at a loss.

“You know. Er, maybe you don’t. My— my clit? I call it my dick. Which is stupid. But it makes me happy.”

"It's not stupid," I murmur, resting my free hand on his shoulder.

He’s playing with the nylon straps on the harness, eyes glued to its O-ring. “I don’t like having stuff— inside— but I'd be okay with being touched. With my dick being touched. I would be super turned on by, like, a handjob.” He shrugs. “Or… a blowjob? I don’t know how easy it would be to do, but I think that would be hot.”

“So do I,” I say without thinking.

His eyes go wide. “Oh. Uh.”

I try to backtrack. “I just meant— ”

“You don’t have to apologize!” He drops the harness in his lap to grab my arm, finally looking me in the eyes. “It’s okay to talk about this. And hearing you say stuff like that is— well, it’s a turn-on, but it’s also relieving, I guess. Knowing you’d be okay with seeing… me.” His grip loosens. “Because— I mean— even if, theoretically, we did use the harness— well, you’d never have to see my dick, or my hole, or any of that. Not if you didn’t want to. But you want to.”

**SIMON**

I never know how to shut my mouth, do I? But Great Snakes, knowing that he isn’t just  _ okay _ with having sex with a trans guy but that he thinks being with me would be hot? That he wants every part of me? I could cry just thinking about it.

He doesn’t seem to even notice my rambling, though. He’s smiling, and it’s so sincere.

I let go of his arm, tugging at the fabric on the harness again. “I’m just really glad you don't mind."

He takes my hand, brushing his thumb over the back of it. “Simon, I love you because you’re you. I would love you no matter what.”

I feel myself blushing. Of course this is what gets me, even though I sort of just asked him to give me a blowjob. I’ve never told Baz  _ I love you _ . I don’t know if I can, but it feels like I should. I don’t know if there’s anything else I can say in response without sounding like a right tit.

“And, whenever you feel ready, I’d be more than happy to try out the harness. Or anything that’ll make you feel fit, and powerful, and confident.” He laces our fingers together. “You deserve that.”

Merlin, does he have any idea what he’s doing to me?

"What about you, then?" I ask, hoping he can't tell how fast my heart is beating.

"What do you mean?" He's raising his eyebrow again. It's always made me want to challenge him, and I feel just as jittery and charged up this time, but I think it's different.

"I told you what I'd want," I say slowly. "So what would you want?"

**BAZ**

Everything. Everything he could ever give me. If it's true that I'll live forever, I hope by some miracle that I can spend forever in his bed as he makes love to me again and again. I could spend eternity letting Simon Snow take me apart a trillion times over in a trillion different ways.

I try to narrow it down for him, though, because I know he sometimes has trouble understanding infinite concepts.

The first ideas that come to me are ones he's already suggested: going down on him and letting him fuck me. Both sound incredibly arousing, but I feel like he's expecting more from me. I understand why. I would feel the same way if I went first; I'd want to know what makes his gears turn.

I suppose I'd like to get blown, too, but it doesn't feel like a priority. (Although the picture my imagination conjures up of his lips wrapped around my prick is certainly persuasive.) On some level, I think I'd want to fuck him, but he said he doesn't like penetration, and the thought of him making me bend over and take his cock— silicone or not— is admittedly much more titillating.

"Baz?" He asks, squeezing my hand.

"I would want to be able to kiss you," I murmur. "I mean, it doesn't have to be every time, but most of the time. And the first time. I'd want a comfortable enough position that I could kiss you. Whether that's soft and sweet or messy snogging."

His cheeks are going pink again. "I like that idea."

Feeling a little more confident, I pull his hand up to my mouth, barely brushing my lips against the back of it. I don't move it away to speak. "And I'd like it if you could give me a handjob. While you fuck me."

"Sure." He flexes his wrist in my grip, and I pull his hand into my lap.

"As for things I don't want… no biting. From either of us." I don't have to explain why.

"Are hickeys okay?" He asks, blue eyes half-lidded.

I nod, but have to reign myself in, trying not to seem too eager for it. "I would love that. Knowing you were marking me up."

He licks his lips. "You said… you want a handjob while I fuck you. But you know I don't  _ have _ to fuck you, right?"

"I want you to."

This time, Snow is the one who pulls me into a kiss. I can feel nylon dragging against the back of my neck when he threads his fingers through my hair. His kisses are desperate and sloppy in a way they've only come close to in the forest, but even that wasn't nearly as charged. As he pushes his mouth against mine, moving his jaw almost aggressively, it feels like he's got excess energy in him, and he's trying to shove it all into me like he did with his magic. I want it all.

Snow's free hand finds its way up my shirt, burning against my stomach, and I groan into his mouth. He uses his grip on my hair to pull me closer somehow. I snake my hand under his hoodie and grab his waist in response, and even though it's over his shirt, he shivers.

Pulling back from the kiss and dragging his hand free, he groans, "Your fingers are so fucking cold."

"Yours are like a furnace," I laugh.

He shoves me forcefully onto the bed, palms flat on my chest as he glares down at me, eyes dark like the ocean reflecting a storm. The plate of the harness sits on my collarbone.

"Bloody fit wanker," he growls.

I lean up on my elbows and kiss him again. He moans. His tongue is deft and agile, and my heart is racing.

His expression is wild when he stops for air. His eyes dart down, away from my face. He pulls his bottom lip temptingly into his mouth.

"You've still got that stupid dildo," he huffs.

He's right. I'd sort of forgotten I was holding it. I lift it to get a better look.

"There's a hole in it," I muse. "You should get a refund for that."

He purses his lips. "It's not a defect. They listed it as, like, a bonus." He gently takes it from me, then sits back on his knees. Still clutching the harness strap, he sticks his pointer finger in the hole in the centre of the dildo's flared base, and it goes in to the second knuckle. "It's supposed to be, uh, stimulating. For the wearer. Like, to sit over my dick?" He snorts a little. "I don't know how good it would actually feel with just hard plastic, though. Would probably chafe."

The solution comes to me so easily I hardly have to think about it. I reach into the sleeve of my blazer and pull out my wand. Pushing power into my voice, I point at the base of the toy. " **Cushion the blow.** "

Snow's jaw drops. "Did you— "

I give him a knowing look.

He gives the hole another tiny push with his finger. This time, it gives.

**SIMON**

No way. No fucking way. For as long as I've known about strap-ons, all I've wanted is one that could make me feel like I'm actually fucking into something. And Baz accomplished that with the flick of a wrist.

He's a miracle, in every sense of the word. Handsome, and sexy, and confident, and skilled. And he wants me.

**BAZ**

He looks at me. At the dildo. At me.

I watch patiently, waiting for him to do something— to set the toy aside and keep snogging me, or blush and disappear into the bathroom to try it out, or gasp and stammer.

"Baz, can I fuck you?"

The question knocks the wind out of me.

"Right now?" I ask quietly.

"Uh— yeah."

" _ Yes. _ "

He throws himself at me, pressing his knee to my chest and effectively pinning me down as he snogs me. Dropping the harness and dildo beside us on the mattress, he wrestles with my blazer, letting me up enough to pull it off. I do my best to tug at his hoodie, but it's impossible to focus when I can hardly breathe.

Gasping for air as he lifts his head, he fumbles with the buttons on my shirt, and I'm finally able to get his hoodie up past his head. His shirt starts to ride up as well, showing off his toned stomach, and I groan. His leg moves to straddle my hips as he shifts his position. He has to look back for a moment to help me get the hoodie over his wings, sticking his tongue out endearingly as he wiggles them.

**SIMON**

This is bloody embarrassing. I'm excited, and I'm horny, and Baz seems just as into it as I am, and these bloody wings aren't cooperating. I must look like an utter moron.

He grabs the hem of my shirt, cold fingers brushing against my skin and making me shiver again, and I have to repeat my maneuvers to get the wings through. It's a total mood-killer.

**BAZ**

Everything about him is beautiful, not the least of which is his wings. They make him look more powerful somehow, strong, capable. I'd reach out and touch one, but I don't know how comfortable he is with them yet.

He pulls my shirt open, and I hear the sharp intake of breath as he stares down at me. I'm a little self-conscious, but his expression washes that fear away, and pride fills the space it leaves.

**SIMON**

Merlin, how did I not realise I like blokes until a month ago? Seeing Baz half-naked and panting, skin already starting to shine with sweat, I feel like such a numpty for not doing all of this sooner. He's fit as hell, and I shouldn't be surprised considering all the times I've watched him play football (For magic's sake, his  _ legs! _ ), but I feel like it shouldn't be possible to be this perfectly sculpted. Handsome tosser.

I reach for his trousers, hands moving before I can process what I want and how I want it, but he starts to laugh, waving me off with a "Wait!" before toeing off his shoes and socks and tossing them to the floor between our beds.

As soon as he's done, I pull his trousers off and throw them aside almost without thinking about it, but then I'm staring at the obvious bulge in his pants, unsure how to progress.

Baz doesn't seem as hung up about it, though, because he smirks up at me and sits up some to tug at my joggers' drawstrings with his teeth. My heart stutters at the sight. He loosens them enough to start pulling at the hem with his hands. He drags my trackies down my hips, eyes trained on my body as he reveals it inch by inch. By the time my joggers are on the floor with everything else, my mind is foggy with how eager he looks.

His eyes finally meet mine again. "Is this still okay?"

I think about it. Truly. Honestly. Not letting myself feel like this is something I have to do just because I said I would. And I decide that yes, it is okay. And I still want it. I really, really want it.

So I nod.

He gently pushes me to sit against the headboard, his legs pushing mine apart slightly. I have to angle the wings behind me so they won't crumple pressed against the wood or stab their stupid spikes into my shoulder blades, but he waits patiently as I maneuver. As soon as I'm comfortable, his fingers ghost over the hem of my pants.

"May I?" He asks, a smile finding its way onto his face.

I can't drag my eyes away from the visible line of his hard-on in his burgundy pants as he leans forward. It's not that I'm scared or intimidated by the thought of seeing it fully once he's naked. (I'm so glad that none of this has been a turn-off so far. Some part of me wondered if I'd flip a switch once we got to this point.) But I can't help but feel strange, and awkward, and dysphoric, and frankly like I'm being upstaged by Baz's erection.

I swallow. "You won't laugh, will you?" I don't think he would. I hope he wouldn't.

"Of course not," he says softly.

I try to take a deep breath, but it catches halfway down my throat, leaving my chest tight. I let it out and try again. In. Out. In. Out. I  _ want  _ this. That doesn't mean I'm not nervous.

"Go ahead," I murmur.

**BAZ**

Slowly, I slide his pants down, until they bunch around his thighs. The first thing I notice is that the hair here is just as impossibly curly and soft as the rest of it. The second thing I notice is that, while it's not as big as a cis man would have, his dick is maybe two inches long, and pretty wide. I'm a little surprised, but mostly enamored. It even sort of looks like he's hard. I didn't know he could do that.

"What?" He asks, voice strained.

I glance up, smiling. "It's big."

His face goes red almost immediately, and it even starts to spread down his neck. "Oh," he squeaks.

I do my best not to laugh at his reaction; I don't want him to get the wrong idea. "You're handsome," I tell him. "Ridiculously handsome, Snow."

He covers his face with his hands, but he's smiling.

I finish pulling his pants off, dropping them into the growing pile. He's only wearing his black binder now.

I gently drag the tip of my finger down his stomach before stopping just above his dick. "Snow?" I ask quietly.

He shivers. "Um— yeah?"

"Look at me, love," I breathe. (I know how he likes it when I call him that.) (I like it, too.)

He peeks through his fingers. "Yes?"

I give him my best  _ come hither _ expression. "Can I give you a blowjob?"

His eyes go wide. "Fuck. Uh— yeah. Yes. Yes, please."

I lick my lips before dropping my gaze back down to his prick. Then, slowly, to give him time to prepare himself, I move down, hovering over him. I purposefully puff out a bit of air over his dick, and he gasps, leg jerking at my side.

"Baz…"

Glancing back up, I examine his expression. "Do you want to stop?"

He shakes his head, but his face is as red as his wings. "No, I… I just…"

I wait, gently running my fingertips over his thigh.

"Merlin, you're going to get me off before you've even really started," he mumbles, hiding behind his hands again.

I can't help but smirk. Clearly, I'm doing something right. "What would you rather have me do?"

"Just… don't tease me," he groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyelids.

I obediently dip my head and drag my tongue over the length of his prick.

"Baz!" He yelps, one hand jumping down to grab at my hair and the other leaping away from his face.

I snicker. "How was that, then?"

He pouts, but I can tell it's more playful than truly upset. "Stuff it, you wanker." He cracks a smile.

I use my hands to hold him open a little, enough to push my face closer and get a more comfortable angle as I swirl my tongue over the tip. He shudders, grip tightening in my hair. If he's already reacting so strongly from a few cheeky licks, he might end up finishing sooner rather than later.

**SIMON**

Baz has always been cold. He leeches heat from me when we're cuddled up together, and clings to me when the aircon is too strong. But despite everything, his tongue is so warm.

It's sort of embarrassing how quickly my body is telling me I could come soon. That familiar tightness in my thighs in particular is here in full force, and Baz is only burying his face deeper between my legs.

"Slow down," I moan, or I try to, but I'm not sure how much he understands.

Miraculously, he lifts his head, but now I can see his blown pupils, and that's only hotter somehow.

I wonder briefly if his fangs will pop. I don't know that I'd mind, honestly.

"Alright?" He asks, but his fingers are digging into my hip. I think he's as eager as I am for this.

I nod weakly. "Alright."

Just as quickly, he pushes down again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, ready for him to keep using his tongue. I'm startled by the feeling of him wrapping his lips around me instead, enough that my hips buck against his mouth. I peek out of one eye to make sure I haven't clocked him in the chin with my enthusiasm, but he seems fine judging by the way he sucks on my prick, cheeks hollowing as he slurps noisily. The sound makes me laugh, even as I roll my hips into the feeling again. It's silly and unconventional on both our parts, but I'm far gone for him.

**BAZ**

Snow's stomach has started trembling, muscles moving like waves approaching the shore. His legs begin to draw up on either side of me. I think he might be close to coming already. As much as I want to see that, I don't know if he still wants to wait and fuck me.

I lift my head again, and the tension leaves him all at once, eyes opening and going slightly blank.

"Snow?" I ask quietly, rubbing his stomach. "Do you want to come now, or did you want to use the harness?"

He looks at me like I've suggested adding a manticore into the mix. "What do you mean? Let me come, and then I'll bloody well fuck you."

A shiver flies through me at the confidence with which he says it. "But… I mean, don't you want to hold off?"

Something clicks behind his eyes. "Baz, I can just come again. No refractory period. You know that, right?"

I did not.

I dive down with renewed vigor, licking and sucking. I hope it'll be enough to get Snow to say my name when he comes— or at the very least, beg for release.

His grip tightens in my hair, tiny pinpricks of pain forming that should deter me but only encourage my efforts. I start a little lower and lick a wide stripe up before swallowing his dick down again. It's not big enough to actually feel like I'm giving head, but I can feel it between my lips, hard and twitching slightly. It's wonderful.

**SIMON**

On one hand, it's overwhelming having all of Baz's attention on my dick; I feel raw and exposed, like a live wire. But on the other hand—  _ Merlin,  _ is it good. He's playing my nerves like a fretboard, fast and rough but artful. He could tease me by touching me a little higher or further to the left, or coming up for a kiss, or stopping to leave hickeys on my neck or thighs, or do any number of things to keep me turned on while giving my dick a break, but I don't care, and neither does he. (It's kind of driving me crazy knowing he's enjoying this as much as I am, enough to lose his head like this.) The only thing that would bother me would be if I start to go numb from the overstimulation, but that doesn't seem to be happening, so I let go of his hair to lean back against the mattress and let him work his magic.

He strokes my inner thigh, then pushes my legs open a little more and groans against me. I smile, squeezing my thighs together against the sides of his head. He moans even louder, sucking hard. I sigh and let my eyes drift closed. I think that means I'm close— when my eyelids get heavy, it usually means I'm in for a big one.

**BAZ**

His stomach is shaking again. It's sort of cute. (It's  _ very _ cute.) He lifts a hand to cover his eyes, even though they're already closed, and his mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. Everything is crashing together.

He takes a ragged gasp, hips lifting off the bed the smallest amount. "Baz, don't— don't stop. Great fucking Snakes, don't you dare stop!"

Feeling smug, I press my tongue flat against him, dragging it in small circles. I find a rhythm and do my best to keep it.

His babbling is still going. "Fuck! Baz, you wonderful, horrible, fit beast. What the fuck are you doing with your tongue? Merlin and Morgana, you can't just—" His face pinches up, and he can't seem to continue.

His hips lift even further, muscles straining both from holding himself up and the intensity of what he's feeling. His hand finds its way to my shoulder, and the pressure is crushing. If I weren't inhumanly strong, I think he might have actually broken bone.

He makes a squeaky noise, like he's trying to speak and breathe at the same time, and when I glance up (never moving away) he's mouthing my name, over and over. His feet slide along the sheets, trying to find purchase as his back starts to arch off the headboard. I reach out with one hand and grab his ankle to help him stay up, still spreading him open with the other.

I know his magic is gone, but I swear I can feel his sticky smokiness in the air.

His orgasm is quiet but powerful. His wings fly open, tail thrashing. His hips buck against my jaw again, and his nails dig into my shoulder, and all the while his body shakes. I don't let up, keeping my mouth on his dick as much as possible, and I can feel the way every lick makes the shaking stutter and pulse.

After nearly a minute, he slumps, sliding down the headboard as his chest heaves with the effort of breathing. He doesn't open his eyes yet, but his hand lets go of my shoulder, falling over his knee instead. I finally lift my head and give him time to recover.

I look down to survey my work. He's all flushed down there, not just where I was using my mouth. More surprisingly, everything is shiny.

"You're wet," I say, mostly to myself.

"Well, obviously," he groans. His voice is raspy, and he's still out of breath. "That was amazing."

"Really?" I ask, grinning as I glance up to meet his gaze. He's smirking. I clear my throat, composing myself. "I mean. Of course it was."

"You're such a nightmare." He sticks his tongue out at me, so, naturally, I kiss him.

**SIMON**

I loop my arms around his neck as he kisses me, and the orgasm has drained enough of my energy, even if momentarily, that this kiss is languid and slow and sweet, like molasses. I could sit here all day, letting him kiss me all syrupy like this until the sun sets and I fall asleep in his arms.

Unfortunately, he pulls back after a minute or two, but fortunately, his hungry expression reminds me what I asked for.

_ Can I fuck you? _

I feel heat rising to my cheeks. Did I really say that? I mean, I want to. Desperately. But I didn't think I could ask for it like that until I did.

"Snow," he growls, and his voice is deep and heady. It's enough to make me shiver. My own voice has gotten deeper since I started T, thank magic, but it's never been as dark and rumbly as Baz's. When he hit puberty, I was mostly jealous. Now that we're dating, though, I realise I quite like how he sounds— sort of love it, actually. It makes me want to lay my head across his chest and listen to him say whatever nonsense he wants, just to feel the way his voice vibrates through my entire body like the fucking earth is splitting in two for him.

"Do you—" I start, but my tongue is tangled in knots. "Do you still want to—"

"Absolutely," he groans. "I've been spoiling for it since I saw the fucking harness."

And fuck, if that isn't an enticing admission. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."

The intensity in his expression lessens. "Do  _ you _ still want to?"

"Fuck yes," I snarl.

His eyes go dark again, and he kisses me again, but it's more of a snog this time, and I'm grabbing at his arms, and then all I can think about is how nice his biceps are. Everything about Baz is designed to entice me.

We break apart, and I hesitate. "Um. How should we— I mean. Are you— do you—"

He rests his hands on my shoulders, anchoring me. "Calm down, love. It's not a race."

I take a deep breath. "Are you, like…" I feel my face heating up again. "Prepared?"

He smiles. "I'm a mage, dear."

"Oh." I nod. "Right."

"Besides," he says, wiggling his eyebrows, "this isn't my first foray into the wonderful world of anal."

That makes me snort, and I have to cover my mouth with one hand. He's laughing, too, though, so I guess that was the point.

He leans up, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I'm blushing again.

"You ready?" He murmurs against my hair.

My heart is pounding against my ribcage. Can he hear it? Can he tell how my blood is rushing in my ears? I wonder if it turns him on.

I reach for his hand, and he lets me take it. I rub my thumb across his palm, steadying my breathing. "As I'll ever be."

I feel him smile. "Alright." He pulls back, slipping his hand free, and leans over the side of the bed, fumbling for his blazer. He slips out his wand, then glances back at me, eyes shining. He looks so happy. I'm still not used to seeing him this happy.

Baz starts rattling off spells— " **Clean as a whistle. Better safe than sorry. Safety first** —" faster than I can think. He's so fucking put-together, and smart, and competent. I shift on the bed, watching him eagerly.

When he seems satisfied, he sets his wand on the bedside table. "Do you need any help putting it on?"

The question takes me by surprise. "What?"

"The harness, love."

I can't fight down the blush that overtakes me. "Oh. Right. The, uh— the harness."

His eyes are soft. "I can help," he offers again.

I swallow down my anxiety. "Let me try by myself first."

He grins and puts his hands up in surrender.

I turn to the toy and the harness, still on the bed beside us. The dildo slots neatly into the hole on the jockstrap, which is a relief, and a quick test with my finger confirms that Baz's charm is still in effect. (Well, his charm is always working on me, but that's not what I meant.) I examine the straps, making sure they're not tangled, and try to figure out how to hold it all. When I've got it the right way up, the only thing left to do is put it on. So. I should put it on now.

I glance up at Baz, biting my lip. He nods encouragingly. His hard-on doesn't seem to have flagged at all, which is sort of a blessing and a curse. He makes a little gesture with his hand, like,  _ go on. _

I shuffle to the edge of the bed, hopping off the mattress and standing up straight. My hands shake as I hold the harness out in front of myself. Then, carefully, I lower it enough to slip one leg through. And then the other. The straps are much too loose, so I have to turn, looking over my shoulder as I tug at the other ends to adjust them, then thread them through so there are no flapping bits of nylon. Tighter. Keep going.

I turn around again to see if it's on correctly. My heart stops completely.

That's a dick. I mean, it's not the most realistic dick in the world, but— that's a dick. A long, hard dick, sticking out of my crotch.

**BAZ**

Snow freezes when he sees himself. He stops breathing, stops moving, just stares down at it. I think his eyes are watering.

"Simon?" I ask quietly.

The dam bursts, and fat tears roll down his face as he covers his mouth with his hands, eyes still glued to the dildo.

"Simon!" I say, louder, because I don't know what else to say.

I reach for his arm, pulling him onto the bed. He lets me, body crumpling, and I drag him into my lap, cradling him. He buries his face in the side of my neck.

"Simon, Simon, Simon." I'm a broken record. I don't know what's wrong, I don't know how to help.

Suddenly, a sound leaves him. A wet laugh. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing more tears out, and giggles.

Merlin. He's going into hysterics.

"Baz, I— I have a—" he bursts into wild giggling. "I have a dick, Baz!" He's sniffling, even as he laughs.

"Are you… okay?" I try, rubbing his arm.

He nods and pulls back to look at me, grinning as his eyes shine with tears. "Sorry for— for crying. This is embarrassing. I just… feel so good. That's silly. But I feel good."

I kiss his cheek, tasting salt on my lips. "It's alright, love. You scared me, that's all."

He turns his head to catch my lips with his, and when his body shifts, I feel the silicone dragging on my thigh. I shiver. I kiss his cheek again, then his chin, where drops have gathered and threaten to fall, then his eyelids, where his wet eyelashes brush my skin, then the tip of his nose, before pushing against his plush lips again.

Pulling back, I carefully drag my hand over his face, doing my best to wipe his tears away. I mostly smear them, but he seems to appreciate the effort, leaning into my touch.

I clear my throat. "Do you need a moment? Or— or do you want to stop?"

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. "I wanna do this. I wanna fuck you."

I pray he doesn't feel the way my prick twitches in my pants.

"You're sure?" I want him, but not if it's too much.

He nods, curls bobbing. "They were happy tears, Baz. I want this so bad."

I kiss him again, because I want it, and because he needs it, and because I can. "How do you want me?"

He ducks his head, and I see his ears go slightly pink. "On your back, I guess? So that… so I can kiss you. Like you said."

My smile widens. "Sounds lovely."

He crawls out of my lap, and the way the dildo bobs beneath him is slightly comedic. I want to reach out and flick it. I think he'd be a bit offended, though.

I turn my body to lay down, head laying just in the spot he was sitting when I blew him. That's weirdly hot to think about.

**SIMON**

I sit up a bit, watching Baz stretch out across my mattress. I adjust the harness a bit, moving it until I can feel the hole slip over my dick, the whole thing shifting as the silicone is able to move closer to my body. Now it  _ really _ feels like a part of me— connected to my prick, the rest of the base brushing against my skin. I had no idea it would feel so euphoric to wear this thing. Crying was still an embarrassing response, but it all hit me at once, how right it feels.

Of course, it'll feel better with lube. I reach for the top drawer of my bedside table, then remember I'd just cleaned it out when Baz got here. Groaning, I glance to the floor, scanning the "Keep" pile. I snatch up the small, familiar bottle, flipping the cap open with a loud clack. I pull the dildo away from my body just long enough to squirt a glob of lube onto the base of it. I reach in with my other hand and rub it around and into the hole as best I can. Then I move my hand out of the way, wiggling it back into place.

The sudden wet slide over my prick makes me gasp. I bite my tongue trying to force any other sounds down before they can follow.

"Snow?" Baz asks carefully, watching me from his place at the headboard. He's taken my preparation time to set a pillow under his hips.

"I'm fine," I mumble. "Just… feels good already." I laugh a little. "Not sure I'll last like this."

He smiles again. "I don't see a problem with that."

I feel myself flush. "Well. Uh. I'll try my best, obviously."

"Of course," he croons. "But I don't mind, as long as it's good for you. I don't have any grand expectations out of this. It's just supposed to feel nice, that's all."

I nod, feeling myself smile back. It doesn't make the possibility of coming too fast any less embarrassing, but he's taken a weight off my shoulders.

I direct my attention back to the bottle in my hand. It's drooling a bit of lube over the side, so I swipe it up with my finger before squeezing a bit more into my hand. I rub my fingers together, listening to it squelch, then carefully wrap a hand around the dildo. (Being able to take hold of myself like this feels so fucking right. Like when I started packing: something you don't realise you were wishing you had until you've got it.) I give it a slow stroke, from base to tip, lubing it up. It shimmers enticingly.

Baz shifts on the bed, and I glance up. His cheeks are slightly pink, which I've grown to realise is pretty much the equivalent of a deep blush for anyone else. The tent in his pants only seems to have grown.

I grin teasingly at him. "You really are spoiling for it, aren't you? Such a slag for my prick."

His eyes go wide. I should really think before I speak.

Instead of being upset, though, he flushes even darker and spreads his legs, never breaking eye contact.

Oh. Did he like being called a slag as much as I liked calling him one? That's something we'll have to explore at some point, I think.

For now, I lean forward, holding out my hand to use the lube still coating my palm. Except I don't actually know what to do.

Baz bites his lip. "Do you want me to… take these off?" He asks, reaching for the hem of his pants.

I was planning to do it myself, but I think I like that idea. "Yeah. Go ahead. Show me how much you want this."

He carefully slips a finger under the hem, and I watch in awe as he drags it down. His happy trail only gets darker the further down it goes. I never thought I was interested in body hair, but I think I'm salivating.

When his prick slips free, there's a moment where everything slows down. I watch, mesmerized, as the dark crown reveals itself. Everything about his length is strained and flushed. I can see the vein down the bottom of it, and some part of my brain demands that I lick it as soon as possible. Just as quickly, the universe hits play, and Baz's cock falls against his stomach with a wet slap.

"Fuck," I groan automatically.

He slides his pants off the rest of the way, tossing them aside, and spreads his legs again. "This alright?"

Nodding weakly, I lean closer for a better look. "Your prick is gorgeous," I tell him, because it's true. He's always so beautiful. Of course his dick is, too. "I sort of want to give you a blowjob, like you did for me."

He says nothing, but I can tell he's embarrassed.

I gently take his prick in my lubed hand. He jumps a bit. I wait for a second, but he doesn't tell me to stop. I press a kiss to the slit at the top. He gasps, fingers twisting in my sheets.

"Si—"

I give him a good, long stroke. He moans this time, loud and open, the way I wanted him to. I lick the vein on the bottom of his shaft, too. The lube tastes kind of funny. After a few more slow pulls, I let go, sitting back to watch his expression. He seems to struggle to regain his calm demeanor, eyebrows twitching.

"Aleister Crowley." He shudders, flexing his fingers.

I smile. "Wanted you to feel nice, too."

He nods, gulping. "Yeah. Yeah, did a bloody good job of that. Thought I was going to come all over you."

My chest goes a little warm at the mental image.

"Well, what now?" I ask, scooting closer until I've settled between his legs. "You said you have experience with this part."

"What?" He asks, eyes still a bit cloudy. "Oh! Oh, the—" he flushes again— "the preparation part."

I've never seen him like this. I like knowing I did this to him.

He nods towards the bottle of lube. "We'll need more of that. The more the better." He holds out his hand for it, then pauses. "Do… you want to stretch me? Or should I do it myself?"

As sexy as it sounds to take him apart with my fingers, I don't really know how to do it. Even when I tried it on myself, I get the feeling I wasn't doing it right. (Maybe that's why it felt like nothing, but I don't want to try again, so it doesn't matter.) "Show me," I say.

He nods and takes the bottle, squirting a large dollop onto two of his fingers, then sets the bottle on the table beside his wand. I watch carefully, leaning back to give him more room as he presses them against his entrance. He takes a deep breath, chest rising, before letting all the air out. Then he presses his fingers inside.

His hole swallows them up greedily. It's sort of fascinating. He must do this sort of thing pretty often to be able to take two fingers so easily.

He spreads them a bit, moving them gently in and out. It's not more than a minute before he adds a third, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. He crooks his fingers, and a low moan leaves him, his head tipping back.

"Is that… good?" I ask quietly.

He nods, but his eyes are closed. "Prostate," he offers. "That— that dildo— it'll probably find it pretty easily. It curves at the end." He moves his fingers again, and a shudder runs through his body. "Fuck. It'll be so good. So, so good, Snow. Want you."

Arousal is building in me again. I can feel it in my stomach, in my chest, in my lips, in the tips of my fingers.

The words come tumbling out. "Baz, can— can I start? I wanna— I want you. Baz, I want you." It takes me a few tries, but I think he understands.

He slides his fingers free, all shiny and wet, and I groan a little, but he groans louder. I want to lick his fingers clean. Is that gross? Does he want that, too? Should I ask for it, or would that make it weirder?

"Baz, are you ready?" I ask instead.

He bites his lip, dragging his hand across his chest and leaving three clear streaks. "Please."

It's all he has to say before I'm lining the dildo— no, lining  _ myself _ up with his hole. I use the other hand to hold his knee further forward, closer to his chest. My grip is shaking on my length, which makes it a little more difficult, but I manage to press the tip against him. He makes a small noise, sort of a sigh but more of a whimper. He could suck me in just like that; he's pliant and open and wet. But I do my best to hold back. I need to engrave this into my memory, into my very being, because I don't know how long I'll last, and I want to make the most of it.

I lean forward, and I feel it when I start to press into him. I keep going, until his knee is touching his chest and the toy is halfway inside him. I keep going, until he has to grab at his other leg to pull it up too, so he's bent nearly in half underneath me, his toes curling just enough that they don't reach the headboard, and my face is above his. I keep going, until I feel the toy bottom out, and my dick meets the bottom of the hole in its base, and it's soft and slippery and  _ good. _ And then I lean down and kiss him.

His mouth is open against mine, sloppy and wet as his tongue prods at me. I give in, because of course I do, and part my lips. He moans into my mouth.

For a while, I don't move. I just sit there and kiss him, letting myself enjoy the wet hole I'm pressed into, even if I can't feel Baz's. This is good. This is right.

**BAZ**

Snow is kissing me softly, but passionately; slowly, but fervently. He's a hundred contradictions all mashed together into one man, and I wouldn't have him any other way.

The dildo is pressing into me hard, and I feel so full. It hasn't hit my prostate, but we've only just started, and having it inside is still so much to handle, especially knowing it's attached to Snow. Still, I can only sit here with it splitting me open for so long.

I tug as gently as I can on Snow's curls. He seems to get the message, pulling back from the kiss to look at me. His lips are ruddy and slightly swollen. I want to see him like this more often.

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes dark.

I swallow, trying to find the words. (And the breath. He's got me folded up quite neatly, and while it's riling me up, it's only marginally more comfortable than it was with one leg up.) "I am adoring the whole snogging thing, don't get me wrong."

He laughs, eyes crinkling. "But?"

I lick my lips. "Could you… move? I think I might explode if you don't do something soon."

His smile twists, growing mischievous. "Mm, I think I can do that."

I raise an eyebrow. "Snow—"

He pulls back, grabbing the undersides of my calves to steady himself. Then he snaps his hips forwards.

The force of the thrust drives an embarrassing sound out of me, and I have to scrabble at the sheets to ground myself.

He just grins and pulls back again.

"Snow," I groan.

He slams forward.

"Snow!" It's a gasp this time, pleasured but frantic.

He pauses, still buried deep. "Do you need me to slow down, love?"

I nod as fast as I can, panting for breath. "Fuck. It's good, but I can't— you're going to kill me like that, Snow."

He nods and kisses my forehead. It's much too tender for someone who's just tried to break me, and I can only stare.

He pulls back, and this time it's much slower. He drags the dildo out, and I feel every inch sliding along my skin. When he stops, hardly any of it is still inside. Then, just as torturously slowly, he pushes it in, grip tightening on my legs.

"Snow… for magic's sake… you can go faster than that, love." My voice is trembling.

He shakes his head. "Let me build up to it. I wanna make this last."

I'm sure it'll last at this rate. It's delicious, feeling him fill me like this, knowing how much power he has over me right now, but it feels like this could last forever. Like we could build up to it— to orgasm, to relief, to whatever— and it would never come. Like I'm getting all the tension, but I don't think I'll reach the payoff.

I grit my teeth, trying to focus, but my eyes are watering from the pleasure. He fits right into me, like a puzzle piece, again and again. I've needed this for so long without even knowing it.

**SIMON**

I have never felt so good in my life. Every push of the dildo is reflected, the hole in its base as soft and eager to take me as Baz is. I want to rock into it for hours on end, feeling the way it gives under the pressure before springing back when I pull away. It's like memory foam. But it's wet, and it makes filthy little noises when I push far enough to make lube come out. Better than any sodding mattress.

Baz's breathing grows more ragged with every thrust. His prick is twitching slightly on his stomach, drooling precome.

"Baz?" I murmur. "If I let go of your leg, do you think you can keep it in place for me?"

He nods, chewing on his lip.

I let go of his right leg. He keeps it pinned to his body as best he can, even as I thrust into him.

"There's a good boy," I say softly, rewarding him with a kiss. He's too out of it to kiss back very much, but I don't mind.

I gently take hold of his prick in my now-free hand. He gasps against my mouth, and I think his hole clenches down on the dildo, because it stops my rhythm. His length is still a bit slippery with lube, and the growing puddle of precome promises extra help if I need it. I start slow, like I did with my thrusts. Long strokes from one end to the other, rubbing my thumb where I think it might feel good as I go. I want to explore his dick, figure out what he likes and where the most sensitive spots are. Then maybe I can get him to make those lovely noises.

After a few strokes, he relaxes enough that I can start moving my hips again. I pull back from the kiss and start off trying to match the two speeds, but I can't seem to focus on both things at the same time, especially when Baz's face is pinching up like this. He's so pretty.

**BAZ**

I'm such a fool. All these years, I thought Snow would kill me with his blade. I'm dying here, beneath him, as he fucks me and strokes my dick between kisses. It's all too much, but he's moving so slowly. I'm going to die. I'm going to self-immolate, bright and glorious and dramatic.

And then he pauses to shift on the bed.

"Huh?" I croak.

"Sorry," he mumbles, palming my prick absently. "My knees hurt." He shuffles again, adjusting how he's kneeling. "Alright."

He pushes in again. This time, the curved end of the dildo meets its mark.

"Simon!" I shout, grabbing at him desperately. One hand ends up on his shoulder, and the other on his arm.

He stops, but the tip is still pressed against my prostate, leaving me seeing stars. "Baz? Does it hurt?"

"No," I try to say, but it comes out as a shaky moan. "Move."

He pulls back a bit, and I remember how to breathe.

"What—"

"Prostate," I say quickly. I wiggle my hips. "Again. Please?"

That seems to amuse him. He grins down at me. "You want it so bad, huh?"

I feel a bit of warmth flood my cheeks. "Please. Please, Snow."

He moves forwards. He starts to stroke me again just as he brushes against the sensitive spot. My toes curl, and my jaw drops open.

"Good?" He asks, still playing with my prick.

I'm too undone to respond, so I do my best to nod.

Suddenly, he's letting go of my dick. I'm about to ask why when he pulls my legs over his shoulders before tugging my hips even closer to his. I groan appreciatively. He takes me in hand again, speeding up his strokes a little. Then he's moving his hips, too, and I'm rocking back and forth, his thrusts making me slide a bit along the bed. He's a storm, and I'm caught at sea, but it's exactly what I want.

He's starting to lose his pace, each thrust getting faster and harder. He's hitting my prostate every time, and I can hardly breathe. His eyes are wild, and his wings are starting to flare out above him, like he's trying to shield us from something. I think he's getting close again.

**SIMON**

I'm losing control. I thought I'd be able to gradually speed up, but every thrust feels so good, and I just want more, faster, now.

I grab a handful of his hip, to have someplace to dig my nails into. He's too thin, though. I can feel all his bones. My first decree as his boyfriend is going to be that he needs to put on a bit of healthy weight, both so I have something nice to grab onto and for his own sake.

I keep my hips angled as best I can to hit Baz's prostate on the upstroke. I think it's working, because he looks utterly debauched, eyes rolling back in his head as he moans. There's something immensely satisfying about seeing someone so elegant look so desperate. For my cock, no less. I have every right to feel proud.

The tail is whipping about behind me, I can feel it. It's hitting my ankles. It normally only does that when I'm upset, but maybe it's because I feel good. I do. I feel really, really good.

I think I might come, actually.

"Baz," I mumble, trying to keep up with my handjob. (I don't actually know if it's any good. He's probably too busy thinking about how I'm hammering his prostate to complain about what a shite job I'm doing with his prick.) "Baz, I think— I think I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," he shudders. "Me, too."

Oh, fuck, the thought of Baz coming right now— he's not even wearing a condom. It'd probably all splatter up onto my chest. Maybe he'd say my name. My actual name, not my last name. He's already said it so much today, but I think if I heard him say it then— Merlin. For once, I can't stop  _ thinking. _

"Baz," I say again, just to say it. "Baz. Baz!"

He groans, tipping his head back on the pillow. "Snow, I can't… I'm…" He groans. "I love you so much…"

I let go. I piston my hips into him, and I'm blabbering nonsense, telling him how good he is for me, but all I can hear is my heart thumping in my ears as the hole rubs over my dick, soft and squishy and wet.

Every muscle goes tight, and a broken moan tries to leave me. I'm shaking. I feel like I'm on fire. I feel like I've been struck by lightning. I feel  _ so fucking good. _

The world comes back in waves. First, I feel. The cold sheets under my calves. Then, I hear. Baz groaning beneath me, quietly begging for me. Finally, I see. Oh, do I see.

I growl and swipe up the ridiculous amounts of precome he's dripping onto his abs, and I stroke his prick fast and hard. He whines, hips bucking up into my grip, and I can see tears forming at the corners of his eyes. I move my hand off him, just for a second, to give his bollocks a tug. He positively keens. Then I'm back on his prick, keeping my fist tight around him.

He comes hard, hips twitching as he tries to keep thrusting into my hand. I feel a drop or two hit my chin, but most of it dribbles over my knuckles. And through it all, he can't stop saying my name. "S-Simon— Si— Simon! Nn—" I help him through it, stroking hard even as his thrusts stutter to a stop. It's only when I feel him starting to go soft in my hand that I let go.

He blinks up at me, mouth hanging open. I kiss him again, just dip down to brush our lips together for a second. He sighs.

Gently, I pull the dildo free. He winces a little, probably still a bit overwhelmed. I don't know if I should take off the harness now or wait. It feels a bit silly, but I lay down next to him with it still on. I nudge his shoulder, and he rolls over, letting me fit myself against his back. The dildo is pressed up between us. He doesn't complain.

"How do you feel?" I ask quietly. (I feel like I have to be quiet. I don't know why. The moment is too delicate, I think.)

For a long while, he doesn't respond. I start to think he's fallen asleep. Then, just as softly, he says, "Good. I feel good."

I smile, pressing my face into the back of his neck. He smells like sweat, but also like his posh soaps, somehow. "Did you like it, then?"

He laughs. "Like it? I loved it, dear. It was perfect."

My smile splits into a grin before I can reign it in. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he chuckles.

I remember distantly that I'm not done getting my things together. I'll be leaving in a few days. We should get out of bed and clean up, so I can finish packing.

Neither of us moves.

Baz glances over his shoulder at me for a moment. His lips part. Then he blushes and rolls over again. Even softer than before, he says, "I love you."

I carefully lay my arm across his middle. My tail works its way around his leg. "I love you, too."


End file.
